"Kate Wilhelm - His Deadliest Enemy" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wilhelm Kate)

HIS DEADLIEST ENEMY
by Kate Wilhelm

It was a lovely sunny day, last day of March, crocuses up, daffodils emerging, and
on the table in her house Constance had seed packets waiting. There was a large bag
of starting mix in the back of the car. "Heirloom tomatoes," she had said to
Charlie, who had looked blank. "Not, as prolific as the newer hybrids, but better-
tasting," she had gone on, to a continuing blank look. "How many tomatoes do two
people need?"
He had dived behind his newspaper at that. She was smiling slightly as she
drove. Thursday, her last aikido class of the week was done, and seeds were waiting.
Charlie would be gone until late afternoon on Monday, or possibly Tuesday. Today
plant the seeds indoors, a head start on real gardening time. Friday clear straw from
the fence where she would plant peas. Saturday shop... .
She braked; a van was askew in the road, and a motorcycle half off the road, with
a woman with a cell phone and several other people milling about a man on the
ground.
Constance stopped and hurriedly got out of her car. "You're out of range here," she
called to the woman. "How bad is he?"
She ran to the man on the ground and as she started to kneel beside him, she
sensed movement behind her. Something was thrown over her head, over her
shoulders; she was toppled and caught as the something was pulled all the way
down her body to her feet, then drawn close, pinning her arms and her legs. She
felt straps or a rope tightening around her. Helpless, she didn't try to struggle,
didn't bother to scream or call out as she was lifted and carried. She drew in a
breath, then tried to hold her breath, but it was pointless. She was already blacking
out.

Charlie liked to fish, and he liked going fishing with Hal Mitchum, a good
companion, next-door neighbor, pal, but by the time he pulled into the Mitchum
driveway on Friday afternoon he admitted silently that he was pretty tired of Hal.
They had left on Wednesday, and on Thursday Hal had stumbled in snow knee-
deep, caught his foot in a hole, and had broken his leg. Thursday he had been in the
hospital and now, Friday, Charlie was taking him home where his wife and however
many of his four sons were around could listen to him complain. And Charlie would
go home to his nice fire where he belonged, snuggle a bit with Constance, eat good
food, and not wade through snow up to his keister. No one had expected the snow, but
there it was, and the fish were probably still in Florida.
All four sons met the van in the driveway, with Doris hovering behind them. The
boys were all a foot taller than their mother and a hundred pounds heavierтАФfootball
players. Two of them lifted Hal and carried him, one took the crutches, and the last
one grabbed his duffel bag, while Doris wrung her hands and Hal yelled back to
Charlie that he would make it up to him, sorry about this, rotten luck, did he want a
ride home ...
Charlie hoisted his own duffel bag, walked around the house, and climbed the
fence to the pasture, where Mitchum's goats came to see what was happening. He
crossed the field, climbed the fence to his own yard, and went to the back porch
door. He took his boots off on the screened porch, then entered a cold house where
the three cats met him with howls of indignation and rage.
After two steps into the kitchen, he paused. She wasn't home. He could always